Inside the principal's office at Ilvermorny, USA, a piece of aged parchment lay spread across the desk.
Grindelwald sat behind it, quill in hand, meticulously revising his notes. His expression alternated between deep contemplation and sudden realization as he swiftly recorded his thoughts. Line after line of elegant script flowed onto the parchment, yet no matter how much he wrote, the page remained endless—always preserving a third of its space blank.
This was no ordinary parchment. It was a magical artifact of his own creation, specifically designed to record research findings. Among the many enhancements he had bestowed upon it, one of his favorites was its ability to automatically adjust text, shifting previous notes upward to ensure space was never exhausted.
More importantly, it possessed an advanced deduction function. It could process magical calculations, provide highly reliable results, and even simulate theoretical ideas to assess their probability of success. This was possible because his work touched upon the very essence of fate.
Such a tool had saved him countless hours, and now, he was using it to document his latest research on meditation and joint spellcasting.
Through rigorous experimentation and real-world application, he had confirmed that these techniques could reshape the future of magical warfare. However, they carried a significant drawback—the suppression of innate spirituality.
For ordinary wizards, this posed no major issue. In fact, the transformation of mental energy often enhanced their connection to magic. But for those who stood at the pinnacle of wizardry, every individual's spiritual essence was unique—whether it was his affinity with fate, Dumbledore's rebirth, or Voldemort's mastery of death.
When a soul undergoes transformation, it develops along its own inherent path. But meditation forcibly redirects that spirituality, conforming it to predefined attributes. Though the effects could be reversed through further transformation, the cost was steep.
Grindelwald noted his thoughts on the parchment, his mind racing through potential solutions. A complex but viable approach surfaced in his mind. He began writing again, detailing a possible method to overcome this limitation.
Then—
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A sharp tapping came from the window.
His pet eagle, Nubi, was pecking at the glass with its curved beak, knocking rhythmically.
Grindelwald's quill halted mid-air, his expression darkening.
His irritation was not directed at the eagle but at the object clutched in its talons—a brown wooden wand.
The wand of his confidant, Vinda Rozier.
With a flick of his wrist, the window opened silently. Nubi swooped inside, landed on the desk, and carefully placed the wand before him. Without hesitation, the eagle flew to a nearby shelf, tilting its head as it observed the scene.
Nubi was intelligent. He had seen this wand many times, always carried by that old woman. But this time, she was nowhere to be seen.
Instead, the wand had arrived alone, laden with an aura of anger and desperation.
Grindelwald reached out, his fingers brushing the smooth wood. A silver gleam flickered through his left eye as a vision took shape before him.
His expression turned grim.
The air in the room chilled by several degrees, reflecting the icy fury in his heart.
The wand in his grasp pulsed faintly, as if resonating with its master's emotions.
At that moment—
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A knock sounded at the door.
"Enter," Grindelwald said coldly.
The door opened, and a middle-aged wizard, Holm, stepped inside. Sensing the heavy atmosphere, he hesitated momentarily before bowing slightly and speaking in a solemn tone.
"Leader, I bring an update on matters you personally requested to be monitored."
"Speak."
The sharp, curt response sent a chill down Holm's spine.
Steadying himself, he proceeded. "We have new developments regarding Dumbledore, Lockhart, and the Dark Lord Voldemort."
"Dumbledore was recently spotted meeting with Turan, the King of Goblins, apparently discussing future cooperation."
"Meanwhile, Gringotts, the financial backbone of the British wizarding world, has been plundered. The scale of destruction was unprecedented."
"According to our intelligence, the perpetrators were none other than two versions of the Dark Lord Voldemort."
"Following the robbery, the Ministry of Magic, Hogwarts, and Kamar Taj swiftly moved to suppress the crisis, taking the opportunity to promote a new wizarding wealth card system."
As he spoke, Holm produced two sleek black wizard wealth cards, stepping forward to place them on the desk before retreating to his position.
Grindelwald picked up the cards, his face unreadable as he examined them.
He said nothing.
But his gaze lingered on Holm, the man responsible for overseeing intelligence operations.
Disappointment flickered in his eyes.
Though he understood the complexities of the situation—after all, the most powerful figures in the wizarding world were involved—his subordinates had failed to trace even the slightest lead.
Holm, sensing the scrutiny, hastily continued.
"Our analysis suggests that the rapid response from the Ministry, Kamar Taj, and Hogwarts was... unusual."
"The Death Eaters had barely completed their objectives, and yet, the authorities had already neutralized the aftermath with remarkable efficiency. Their promotion of the wealth card system also proceeded suspiciously smoothly."
"There are two possibilities: either they are cooperating with the Dark Lord, or they have successfully planted undercover agents within his ranks."
At this, Holm hesitated before adding, "Given Lockhart's research capabilities, it is highly probable that he has developed a method to block the Dark Mark's influence—enabling infiltrators to operate freely."
"In other words... a scenario much like our own."
Grindelwald twirled the black cards between his fingers, seemingly engrossed in their design.
Holm stole a glance at his leader, noticing the telltale flicker of silver in his right eye.
He knew what that meant.
The leader was glimpsing the future.
Moments passed in silence.
Then—
"Anything else?" Grindelwald asked.
Holm hesitated. The key points had already been covered. There was little else of significance.
But he couldn't ignore the question.
Scrambling for additional information, he recalled an unverified rumor.
"Leader, there is one more report—though it remains unconfirmed."
"It is said that after the Gringotts robbery, the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters vanished entirely. No trace of them has been found since."
"Our analysts speculate they may be lying low to digest their spoils."
"Alternatively, they could be avoiding detection from the Ministry and Kamar Taj, given the magnitude of their actions."
A moment of silence followed.
Then, a chilling voice cut through the air.
"I know where they are."
Holm barely had time to process those words before the next order came.
"Gather all available elite Saints."
"We move now."
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